


Do you believe in destiny? Do I?

by pigeonanarchy



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), agnes montague burns jonah magnus' statement, i love that there's a tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24368536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonanarchy/pseuds/pigeonanarchy
Summary: She’d never varied, never considered anything different. He’d always ask what she wanted, instead of assuming that her order would never change. She’d asked him about destiny, about unavoidable fate. He’d thanked her for choosing to spend time with him now, regardless of what the future might’ve brought.Maybe Agnes can pick a new path, here. One besides the one that burns, the one that she was raised on, the one that she is still bound to. Maybe she can step off, walk in a new direction.
Relationships: Agnes Montague & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jack Barnabas/Agnes Montague, agnes montague/jude perry (implied)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67





	Do you believe in destiny? Do I?

**Author's Note:**

> Me: i should work on my homework  
> Me: i should work on my wips  
> Me: [writes this]
> 
> quick warning for like a sentence referencing some self harm on jon's part, when he's trying to stop himself from reading the statement

The strings pulled and tugged, they burned and were rewoven. The fires consumed, sought to leave nothing behind their heat, but that which they sought to burn was held out of reach by the webs it was caught in. Both wanted to possess what they fought over, but while the fire’s claim was stronger, it was not strong enough to burn the webs away completely, and they were constantly replaced as they burned.

Sometimes Agnes was conscious enough to feel disappointed, that even her death had failed to free her of the impurities which had prevented her from bringing her god through to the world. Sometimes Agnes could almost see the world she had meant to leave. Sometimes Agnes could even pull herself together enough to try and reach out. Mostly, though, there was just pulling, and burning, and strings and fire and that point they all centered on, that, if it could wish, would wish just for rest.

-

Agnes was… somewhere, which was more than she’d been in… an amount of time she didn’t know. But she was now, and she’d not been before, and she didn’t feel so pulled-apart. She was pulled-towards, instead. The Lightless Flame and the Mother of Puppets, their calls entwined in a way Agnes wouldn’t have thought possible, blurring into each other instead of in stark opposition. They were being drawn to some singularity, and she could feel them more than she ever had.

She was standing in a room, as far as she could be said to stand, anymore, and across the room there was a man. He was of the Ceaseless Watcher, that much was obvious, but while the gaze of the Ceaseless Watcher was strong and heavy on the back of her neck, every entity had a more tangible presence than she’d ever known.

He was reading a paper.

He was crying.

Agnes knew what destiny looked like - a path with fences along the sides so you can’t turn off, shaking hands that nevertheless moved with surety, the regret of what you couldn’t have. His was here, no matter how little he clearly wanted it to be. Hers was too - the destiny she had failed, the destiny she could neither escape nor achieve, even in death, he was doing what she hadn’t been able to. He called, and every one of the gods answered.

For a second, she wondered if her fate wasn’t the better out of the two of them. Looking at his face, she was almost glad she hadn’t been able to follow through on her destiny. Well, that wasn’t quite true. She couldn’t be the one to call the Lightless Flame through, but she had been pulled here to ensure that this man wasn’t stopped. She had a second chance, of sorts.

-

She had seen Gertrude once, since Gertrude had pulled her off the only path she had ever known. Gertrude had come to her for help, seeking an end to someone who had been meant to assist her, who had been caught up in a web and who had been dragging in the people around her until she couldn’t use them any longer. Gertrude had seemed… numb, tired. It had been rather like staring into a mirror, for the two of them, except that Gertrude had lost everything but a destination to push towards, while Agnes had lost her destination.

Jack hadn’t had a destination or something else to push him forwards, but she’d never seen him look like that. She’d asked him why, why he kept going, where he intended to end up, what ends his actions were towards. He’d asked if he needed one, said…

“I mean, I- I don’t actually _have_ much of a plan? I’m not really trying for any goal in particular, except to be happy, I guess. I’m here, with you, right now, and I’m happy, so… I think it’s working out?” Jack had asked, looking mildly baffled.

They’d been walking through a park, at the time. He’d gone to hold her hand, and she’d flinched even though she had been wearing gloves, and he’d just accepted that, and smiled at her. She hadn’t been very good at acting human - hadn’t understood what to say in conversations, hadn’t understood the decisions people would make or the things they would value. She’d figured he would leave, once he’d seen that about her. Instead, it had turned into one of the things he seemed to consider precious.

“But… if you’re not trying to get somewhere, how do you know which path to take?”

“I guess… I look around, sort of, and head towards what looks interesting? It’s… it’s the journey, not the destination? That I care about, I mean. I’m glad to be here, with you. Even if things change, I’ll always be glad to have had this time. Does- does that make sense?”

They’d gone to a bakery, after that, and he’d asked what she wanted so he could buy something for her while she got the two of them a table. It had been maybe the fifth time they’d gone to that specific bakery. He’d asked what she’d wanted every time they went. It was a small thing, in the grand scheme of gods and fear and everything in her life, but it was genuinely one of the things she’d looked forward to most about seeing him when they’d meet up. No matter how many times she made the same decision, he’d never assume she’d choose that every time. He’d always ask.

She hadn’t gotten asked, much, with the Lightless Flame. She’d express an opinion that she’d rather something were different, and that would change if they could manage that, and then everything would continue on in this newer way until something else caused another change.

-

The gods of fear felt stronger, now and growing even stronger as she waited. The man had, at some point, tried clawing at his throat, his mouth, his eyes, while she had been lost in thought. It hadn’t worked to achieve anything of value.

She thought about Jude, eyes alight with Agnes’ destiny, and her certainty that events would align to bring them that future.

She thought about Jack, asking her what coffee she wanted for the second, third, eightieth time.

-

What still remains of Agnes Montague takes a step forward, as far as she could be said to have legs that could step.

She takes hold of the papers in his hands, as far as she could be said to have hands that could hold.

Regardless of her level of physicality, or the question of how much she truly exists, the papers catch.

The man sits there, stressed and trapped, and reads and reads and reads until the last of what binds him is ash.

He blinks, realizes his hands are burnt, and flinches, disturbing the ash on his desk which is all that remains of the pages he had held, that had spoken of destiny, and now speak of nothing at all.

He looks up at her, across the table between them.

“Who are you?” He asks, his tone that of a person who already knows the answer.

“I’m Agnes.” She pauses, unused to speaking but fairly confident there was more to say. Oh, that’s right, that’s what it is. “… Sorry about your hands.”

**Author's Note:**

> Jon: nah dw im used to dealing with burns on my hands  
> Anges: thats a not good sign right? Like that seems like the sort of thing that people would generally consider a symptom of a problem right  
> Jon: what no im fine  
> Agnes: i may have had a weird childhood that taught me no useful skills but im pretty sure thats a lie  
> Martin, walking in, unaware that anything happened: hi jon <3 <3!! oh god /why is there a fire lady/  
> Jon, sobbing: MARTIN YOU’RE HERE  
> Agnes, feeling awkward: uh
> 
> Martin, making tea because he makes tea when hes stressed: so… who are you…  
> Agnes, trying to help by heating water up with her hands but then accidentally melting the teapot: im agnes  
> Martin, using the tea he /had/ made to put out the fire caused by molten teapot metal on the wood floor: neat neat neat  
> Agnes, scooping the molten metal up with her hands to help but accidentally making it more molten and then it pours out between her fingers because its a liquid: … who are you though  
> Jon: [went to the store to buy a new teapot because he Saw agnes melt it but the only cashier has a statement so hes just holding the teapot awkwardly trying to wait until the next shift but its in three hours but if he talks to the cashier he wont be able to resist taking their statement but he really wants to get martin something]


End file.
